


Didn't Mean To Make You Cry

by HopeCoppice



Series: Falling From Grace [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Child Loss, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Other, Strong Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-27 04:50:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20040205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeCoppice/pseuds/HopeCoppice
Summary: Crowley struggles with the discovery of what he's lost. Aziraphale struggles alongside him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Reading the previous part isn't strictly essential, but does provide a little more clarity. Crowley is in no fit state to be an entirely credible source.

Aziraphale had made up his mind. He was going to kiss Crowley, if the demon would let him, and then he would never stop, if Crowley didn’t mind.

He had known for millennia, of course, that he was attracted to Crowley. From the moment he’d seen him in the Garden, it had been clear that he was the ultimate temptation. He’d been so careful not to touch him, even in the most innocent of ways, for most of history, because he knew how easy it would be to go too far. To let himself be seduced and Fall, or worse, to scare Crowley away. He never wanted Crowley to go away.

He hadn’t let himself believe he could _ love _ him, though. For all Crowley’s many little courtesies and kindnesses - _ Hamlet _ was still playing at the Globe to this day, after all, though the theatre was new - he was a demon, and Aziraphale was an angel. And then, that fateful night in the forties, when Crowley had walked on consecrated ground to save him - had saved his books, too, just because he knew he’d miss them - every atom of his being had been suffused with love, a love he could no longer deny to himself. A love he _ had _ to deny to everybody else, most of all Crowley.

And now they were free. Heaven and Hell had seen their apparent power and been terrified; they would cause them no trouble for a while. And Crowley had kept finding reasons for them not to part, and Aziraphale felt hopeful for the first time since he’d found himself in this mess. They went back to Crowley’s, largely because Aziraphale had barely seen it before, and after a couple of drinks Aziraphale found himself close enough to Crowley that it would only take the slightest movement to press their lips together. It could be the biggest mistake he’d ever made, or the most wonderful decision in the world. Crowley’s eyes widened as he leaned in, and he made the tiniest movement towards the angel in return, and Aziraphale had made up his mind.

“Stay there,” Crowley yelped suddenly, and then he was gone.

Aziraphale winced; he had gone too far, hadn’t he? Crowley wasn’t attracted to him, let alone in _ love _ with him, and he’d fled the awkward situation. But then he caught the scent of sulphur on the air; Crowley had been summoned back to Hell. So much for being left alone - he would have to find him, find some way of rescuing him.

He was halfway to the door when he realised, replaying the events of moments ago in his head, that Crowley had _ known _ he was being summoned. There had been a flicker of panic, and then he had told Aziraphale to stay where he was. Perhaps he knew something Aziraphale didn’t; perhaps he was being a self-sacrificing fool to try to keep his angel safe. Whichever it was, Aziraphale supposed he could do his demon the courtesy of obeying, until he figured out a plan to get him back.

He was sitting on the sofa, where he had been when Crowley had left, and trying to think of what he could do to rescue him, when the demon popped back into existence beside him. Aziraphale’s relief was short-lived, though, as he took in the state of him.

“Crowley?” He got no response but an inhuman, animal noise of grief. “Crowley, what’s happened?”

“My son,” Crowley whimpered, so softly that at first Aziraphale thought he must have misheard, “he took _ my son_.”

And Aziraphale, bewildered, could only look on as he grieved.

* * *

It took a while for Crowley to realise that Aziraphale was speaking; he had heard a sort of faint background murmuring but dismissed it, along with the hand tentatively rubbing his shoulder, in order to focus on the pain that seemed to be tearing him apart. He had no idea how Aziraphale could even be touching him, scattered as he must surely be to his component atoms. He focused on getting his breathing under control, on choking down the desperate, heaving sobs that shook him, and finally managed to quiet himself enough to hear what Aziraphale was saying.

“-though of course there’s no reason you should have-”

“Hm?” It was all Crowley could manage, but the angel seemed to understand.

“Oh. I, er, I said… well, first I said _ you don’t have a son_, and then I realised that was stupid because I meant _ you never told me you had a son_, but that’s not right either because that’s not the point, it’s only that I didn’t know, though there’s absolutely no reason you should have told me you had a son and anyway it doesn’t matter because I’m so sorry, Crowley. Can… do you want to tell me what happened?”

“I didn’t know,” he told him softly, too exhausted and broken even to cry any more. “If I’d known… what could I have done?”

“Crowley. Please, if you’re going to ask me questions, I need to know what actually happened. Start at the beginning.”

The beginning was too far; Crowley didn’t think he could survive going back that far. Every memory was tainted, and most of them hadn’t exactly been cherished anyway. He settled on a brief synopsis.

“Fucked Satan.”

Aziraphale flinched. “Good G- I mean. What? When? Just now?”

Crowley shook his head, regretting it instantly as pain shot through it, “Ages ago. Oh, S- G- oh, _ Somebody_, I shouldn’t have sobered up. Are you still drunk?”

“No. No, I’m not. I was only a little merry to start with, and I’m certainly not merry now.”

“Sorry to ruin your evening.” Crowley tried to sneer, but it came out sounding far too sincere and pathetic for his liking. Not that it mattered. How could anything matter, now, in the wake of this earth-shattering news? He slumped into misery for a few seconds before Aziraphale’s voice brought him back. 

“All right. So… you… and, er, Satan. And he took someone from you?”

“My son, he took my _ son _, made me give him away without even- I never even-”

“So your son, he’s… in Hell? Because… er…? Was it something to do with his mother?”

“_I’m _ his mother, parent, thing,” Crowley felt as if he was choking on every word, and somehow Aziraphale wasn’t making any sense, and he needed Aziraphale to make sense right now because when it came right down to it, Aziraphale was the one who made _ him _ make sense. He made Crowley’s _ life _ make sense, and he needed him to do it now.

“Then- was, er, Satan, jealous of his father, or something?”

“What? No. Angel, it’s… it’s… he was my son.” He could barely say the name; it felt as though it was burning his tongue, but he forced it out anyway. “Adam.”

“Adam? That’s an odd coincidence, that’s the same name they gave-”

If the situation had been different, Crowley might have laughed at the expression of dawning comprehension on the angel’s face as all the pieces of the puzzle finally slotted together. But as it was, the situation was absolutely dire, and there was nothing funny left in the world.

“He’s _ your _son?”

“No.” Crowley snorted mirthlessly. “No, that’s the best bit, isn’t it? He _ has _ parents, he made that very clear when he was shifting reality around in Tadfield the other day. Two parents, and only two; Arthur and Deirdre Young. I suppose I should be _ proud_; that was some power. Wiped me right off the map _ . _”

“Crowley- but you were right there- why didn’t you stop him, why didn’t you _ say _something? And- and all that time with Warlock, you thought you were raising your own child-?”

“I didn’t know I _ had _ a child, weren’t you listening?” Aziraphale’s hands came up to cradle his head, and Crowley let him do it, even though he didn’t deserve comfort. “What sort of person doesn’t even _ know_, doesn’t even _ feel _ it? I had my own son in a basket in my hand and I didn’t feel a thing, not even as I- I handed him over-” Aziraphale’s hands were smoothing Crowley’s hair now, petting and soothing, and though Crowley knew he _ couldn’t _ be soothed, he felt warmed by the angel’s touch.

“When did you find out, dear?” It was the endearment that proved too much to bear, reminding Crowley that he had been so happy just minutes earlier - or was it hours? He didn’t know - convinced that Aziraphale was going to kiss him and blissfully, shamefully unaware of what he had lost.

“Just now, I- just now, when I’d already lost him.”

Aziraphale guided his head gently down onto his lap - Crowley had bent forward so far in his agony that it didn’t take much - and whispered something about sleep, and whether it was some sort of angelic command or just a kind suggestion, Crowley embraced the darkness like the old friend it was.


	2. Chapter 2

This was not how Aziraphale had expected the night to go. Even when Crowley had begun to cry, he had thought that perhaps Hell had threatened him, that they might have played some game or other with his mind to make him think he’d done something terrible. He supposed that could still be the case, but the demon’s words carried a ring of truth. Aziraphale could feel, somehow, that it wasn’t just a matter of Crowley believing what he said; it was an absolute, a fact stitched into the tapestry of the universe, and Aziraphale almost couldn’t believe he hadn’t known before.

_ Crowley  _ hadn’t known. It was that fact that seemed to be causing him the most pain; not just the loss of Adam denying his occult parentage, but all the loss that had gone before it, loss he’d never known about until now. Aziraphale looked down at his sleeping friend and began stroking his hair again. It had taken a little miraculous assistance for Crowley to fall asleep so quickly, but Aziraphale had been so afraid of saying the wrong thing - and so afraid that Crowley would discorporate himself through sheer emotional anguish - that it had seemed the safest course of action.

Crowley had a son.  _ Had _ had a son. And he had had that son by sleeping with Satan himself. That was… a disturbing thought, in all honesty. Aziraphale found he didn’t want to dwell on it. Still, that had been a long time ago, Crowley had said, and he didn’t think the demon meant twelve years. Aziraphale hadn’t even realised ethereal or occult beings could  _ have  _ children; he wondered if there was a book out there somewhere that could tell him how it could happen on a delay, and without the knowledge of the mother.

Aziraphale had grown used to Crowley’s shifts between genders over the years; he did his best to remember any new names or aliases he needed to, always held off on pronouns until Crowley told him which he was using at the moment, and tried to take what cues he could from Crowley’s clothing, when around humans. Given that most occult beings didn’t really  _ have  _ genders, or genitalia for that matter, and that Crowley had a number of both that he seemed to slip on and off whenever he needed to, Aziraphale wasn’t sure how Crowley had landed on  _ mother  _ as a descriptor. It was far less unusual for a father not to know about his child’s existence, after all. But then, Satan had seemed very firm about being the boy’s father, too.

Crowley had found out that he had a child, and had that child ripped from his grasp, and learned that he had been made complicit in that same brutal scheme, all at once. No wonder the poor thing had sobbed himself to sleep. But the demon was stirring beneath his hand, even now, and Aziraphale would have to help him, somehow. He would have to find  _ some  _ way to help his friend to heal.

* * *

Crowley woke with a hand in his hair, his head on someone’s lap, and the scent of angel everywhere, and for a moment the world was perfect.  _ Aziraphale,  _ his heart seemed to sigh, and then, with a start,  _ Adam. _

He threw himself upright, nearly breaking the angel’s fingers in the process, and stared around him wildly as if he might find some sign that it had all been a dream. What he found instead was Aziraphale’s face, so full of understanding and sympathy that it confirmed all his fears.

“Crowley.”

“Oh, Heaven, it’s real. It was real, wasn’t it?”

“I…” The look on Aziraphale’s face told him it was, but his words seemed calculated to raise Crowley’s hopes. “We only have Satan’s word for it. He’s not exactly known for being honest.”

“He’s never lied to me,” Crowley told him, and then he realised. “...He never had before.” Suddenly, even that seemed in doubt. “I can’t go back and ask him. I can’t.”

“No. No, that’s quite understandable,” Aziraphale agreed. “Crowley, can I ask-? I mean, I don’t mean to pry. But… it was a shock.”

“Hearing I fucked the devil? Or, I suppose, he fucked me, most of the time?” Aziraphale winced and Crowley felt a surge of triumph; good. Let someone else suffer just a fraction of his pain.  _ But it’s not ‘somebody else’. It’s Aziraphale.  _ “Sorry, angel. Too much information. I, er, what did you want to ask?”

“Well… I mean… when did this happen? And- and-  _ wait _ . Most of the time? How many times-?” The angel blushed, apparently realising he’d overstepped, but Crowley shook his head.

“You asked me to start at the beginning, before. Well, if I’m talking about  _ him _ , I’m not thinking about-” He paused and tried again. “About A- About Adam.” He was certainly thinking about him again now, the pain like a long needle being forced through his heart.

“Then tell me… tell me what you want to about Satan. I won’t judge.”

“Of course you will. You should. But if you want the story from the beginning… it starts with Lucifer, the Morningstar, an angel. And… another angel. A silly, naive angel by the name of…” He hesitated, and Aziraphale jumped in.

“You don’t have to say- it’s important, your old name. Private. It’s OK if you want to keep it to yourself.”

“...we’ll call her Crowley, then,” Crowley told him gratefully. “And when they first met, she was  _ she _ , and she was besotted with God’s favourite angel. And he… he seemed to favour her. He taught her things that humans were going to learn later. Things they’d learn… together.” He made an awkward gesture; he’d never been a prude, but somehow telling this story to Aziraphale was the most excruciating thing he could have imagined, before he’d been summoned. “And sometimes Crowley was  _ she _ , sometimes  _ he _ , or  _ they _ , but Lucifer liked it best when- look, this third person thing, I thought it might help but it doesn’t, so- he liked me best when I was Eve-shaped. And I didn’t know about the rebellion - I knew what we did together was stolen knowledge, I’m not innocent, but I didn’t know about  _ that _ . And then he rebelled, and Fell, and God saw… something of him in me.” He stopped as a realisation struck him. “That… that’s what he took, to make his weapon. Stole that moment, an angel with a demon’s seed inside, and made it into…” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “Doesn’t matter.”

“I think it’s fairly clear it does.”

“Don’t want to talk about it. Don’t want to think about it. She saw, and I Fell too. Broke every bone. Had to crawl. Hence the name. And he - Lucifer - Satan, then, he looked after me. Took the pain away, distracted me from what was left. We had been doing it for so long, it just seemed comforting, somehow. Like one thing in the whole universe that hadn’t changed.”

“Someone to rely on,” Aziraphale suggested, looking entirely too knowing, and Crowley shook his head.

“We were never - it wasn’t  _ love _ , angel, or romance. But I suppose it was something. I trusted him.” He gritted his teeth against the pain of the admission. “But he had big plans to get back at God, and I didn’t care. It was a question that threw me from Heaven - I should have stood against him, but I asked him  _ why _ instead - and it was a question that ended it. I asked what he thought it would take to get back to Heaven. He laughed in my face for wanting that, and I told him it was over. Then I went up to Eden and met the l-” Crowley was an idiot; he couldn’t tell Aziraphale he’d met the love of his life that day in Eden. Aziraphale would only want to know who it was, and that couldn’t happen. Not like this. Maybe never. “The little human types. It was their turn to have that, not us. And then I asked Eve about the apple, and she tried it… you know the rest.”

Aziraphale stared at him for a moment, obviously digesting the information overload. At last, he spoke.

“You’re telling me eleven-year-old Adam Young was conceived over  _ six millennia  _ ago?”

“The way Satan tells it.” Crowley shrugged. “At least a hundred years, even if he lied.”

Oh,  _ fuck. _

* * *

Aziraphale watched as Crowley realised what he’d said, curling in on himself in shame and embarrassment. Aziraphale, on the other hand, felt nothing but a sort of idle, detached curiosity.

“Oh, Crowley. You went back?”

“Twice.” The demon was very flexible; Aziraphale highly doubted that  _ he  _ would be able to hide his face against his own knees like that, even with his arms over his head to complete the concealment. “I know.”

“Right. But… you weren’t together when he tricked you?”

“No. No, it ended before Eden, and after Eden…” Crowley stole a glance at him from beneath his arms, and for a moment Aziraphale wondered if he might say  _ it was only you _ . That was wishful thinking, though. “It was just bodies. A stupid clash of bodies because the world was cold and hard and so was Hell.”

"He made you feel better," Aziraphale deduced, "so you turned to him when things got bad."

"I turn to  _ you _ , angel. Any time I can. But sometimes… sometimes I can't tell you what's wrong. And sex… made things better. Just for a little while."

"Sa- Lucifer was your first?"

" _ The  _ first. He saw the plans, we tried them out. Maybe it could have meant something, if we'd been different people, but it never did. It was just familiar. Comforting, after the things I'd seen." Crowley let out a broken, bitter sort of laugh. "I could do with that comfort now."

_ Let me comfort you, in any way I can,  _ Aziraphale could have said.  _ I love you beyond all imagining,  _ he could have told him. But that would be unforgivable, adding another burden to the distraught demon's heavy load, and so he said nothing.

* * *

_ Let me comfort you,  _ Crowley imagined Aziraphale saying, and was immediately disgusted with himself. How could he even think about his attraction to the angel now, when he'd lost so much already? Even if the angel took pity on him now, if he agreed to bring pleasure to a demon tainted by the touch of Satan himself, he would never love him - and Crowley would be crushed all over again.

But the angel said nothing, so Crowley scrambled to fill the void.

"It's- I don't know why- it's not as if I especially  _ wanted  _ any of it. Nappies and responsibility and- I'd never thought about it. And I never knew- I don't understand how it can hurt so much."

"Losing something you never knew you had?" Aziraphale frowned. "Of course that can hurt, Crowley."

"It's not as if I ever thought I  _ could _ have a family." He hated the way his voice cracked on the word, the way Aziraphale's face crumpled in sympathy. "I'd probably be terrible with kids."

"Warlock loved you," Aziraphale told him, "and those children you saved from the Flood-"

"Don't." He hadn't realised until the angel spoke that he had been trying to tell himself Adam was better off without him; that, surely, should have been some comfort. "Don't, please, I can't-" But the mention of Warlock reminded him of Aziraphale's earlier question.  _ All that time with Warlock, you thought you were raising your own child-?  _ "If I hadn't screwed it all up, got the wrong boy somehow, I could at least have known I'd sung him a lullaby…"

Aziraphale's arms encircled him again, and Crowley allowed himself to sink into the angel's embrace. There was no comfort to be found, not anywhere, but Aziraphale's presence kept him stable. Crowley might be drowning, but at least he was anchored; he might sink into the depths of despair, but at least he would never be lost.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a heads up, Crowley briefly has some minor qualms about his gender presentation in this chapter, but it should be pretty un-triggery.

Aziraphale held Crowley, listening to his occasional incomprehensible self-recriminations and regrets and, more consistently, his choked sobs, for hours before the demon sank into sleep again. Then he carefully slipped out from underneath him, covered him in a soft tartan blanket he miracled up, and slipped out of the flat.

When Crowley got upset and slept, it tended to be for weeks. Well, more often it was decades, but Aziraphale had no intention of allowing that to happen; how much worse would Crowley feel if he woke to find his son all grown up? But Aziraphale needed to know what he was dealing with; he needed to consult his books.

Two hours with the books he kept most carefully hidden in the bookshop, though, only served to confirm that this had never happened to any other pair of angels or demons. At least, if it had, it hadn’t been written down. He’d even scoured the Book of Revelations, searching for anything about the Antichrist that might be useful, but those really had been some _ very _ funny mushrooms and none of it made sense. So, instead, he turned to his Heavenly books - specifically, the one that warned against angels interbreeding with humans.

_ In the event of an unintentional Creation, parental rights can be severed, both in the eyes of celestial law and in metaphysical terms, by the giving away of the child. The parent or parents must personally give the child to an intended recipient or agent, with no intention of taking them back again. _

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale murmured. It had been a cruel trick, and one Satan must have thought out carefully before the fact. The demon had never stood a chance; he’d had no idea what he was giving away when he delivered the Antichrist into the hands of the Satanic nuns. “You poor fool.”

On impulse, he picked up the telephone, glancing at the clock to see that it was nearly twenty to nine in the morning. _ Tadfield… 6… 6… 6. _It was a minor miracle that Adam himself answered the phone on the second ring.

_ “Hello?” _

“Adam!” He was talking, he suddenly realised, to Crowley’s son. To _ Crowley’s son. _ “I, I, er, I just wanted to check that everybody was alright, in Tadfield, I mean.”

_ “We’re fine. At least, I think so. I haven’t seen Newt or Anathema yet today, but the Them are OK. And my parents don’t know what happened, which is good except that they’ve told me I can’t go out for a while. They didn’t like me being at the airbase.” _

“No, I imagine you were out of bounds,” Aziraphale conceded, “perhaps if an adult or two came and told them you had a good reason?”

_ “Like what? You can’t exactly tell them the world was ending.” _

“No,” the angel mused, a hazy plan beginning to form in his head, “but we’d think of something.”

_ “You and that demon?” _ Aziraphale could almost hear the boy’s shrug. _ “Well, I fixed his car, same as your shop, so you can come if you like. It’s a long way to come just to get me ungrounded, though.” _

“Well, it’s not right that you should save the world and get in trouble for it. Besides, if you don’t mind, we’d like to talk to you.”

_ “If you can convince Dad, I can get the Them together-” _

“No, er… just you, I think, if you don’t mind.”

_ “Oh, right, weird magic stuff. OK. I’ll see you later, then. Bye.” _In the background, Aziraphale thought he heard Adam’s father - his earthly father - asking who he was talking to, and then the call disconnected with a click.

It took a couple of minutes for all that Adam had said to sink in. _ Same as your shop. _ He hadn’t even noticed, in his hurry to get to his books, that the shop _ had _ been restored; in truth, he’d forgotten it had burned down. Crowley had mentioned it, of course, at the Ritz, and Aziraphale had seen the Bentley himself, but then he’d been with Crowley, on Crowley’s sofa, finally just a breath from telling him how he felt - and then Crowley had been gone, and then Crowley had been _ broken, _and the bookshop had been the last thing on his mind. He should, he supposed, go back and check on the demon; he had good news for him, after all. They could speak to Adam, and perhaps he could set things right.

Back in Crowley’s flat, Aziraphale was relieved to find that the man hadn’t moved. He gazed fondly at him for several seconds before reaching out, tentatively, to wake him.

“Crowley.”

“Mmno ’s mine.” Crowley’s arms were wrapped tightly around his own body. “‘m not letting go.”

“_ Crowley _,” Aziraphale repeated more sternly, and one snakelike yellow eye opened.

“...Angel?”

“Crowley, I need you to give me a lift somewhere.”

“Oh.” The demon sat up with a frown, still half-asleep. “Was just gonna get drunk today.”

“Do that afterwards, if you like. It’s really quite important that you drive me to-” He cut himself off, but Crowley wasn’t _ so _drowsy that he couldn’t pick up on Aziraphale’s suspicious behaviour.

“Drive you _ where _, angel?”

“...Lower Tadfield.”

For a moment, it seemed as though Crowley might accept that answer, and then all Hell broke loose.

* * *

“...Lower Tadfield.”

Crowley didn’t know how he’d known that was the answer, didn’t even know why he was so angry, at first, but then he realised that Aziraphale almost certainly didn’t want to speak to Anathema, or anyone else in the village. He probably didn’t even want to talk to Adam. He wanted _ Crowley _ to talk to Adam, and that was the last thing Crowley wanted to do.

“Angel, if you’re hoping for a joyful reunion-”

“Well, why shouldn’t you see him?”

“I’m nothing to him, Aziraphale! Knowing what I know now - what _ you _know too - how can you ask me to even look at him?”

“He’s your son, Crowley, you can-”

“He’s not.” Crowley spat the words like the poison they were. “He made that very clear. I abandoned him, same as his father-”

“You didn’t know-”

“And that makes it worse!” He couldn’t look at Aziraphale, either. “He wouldn’t want me, angel.”

“Like you wouldn’t have wanted him?” That stung; Crowley forced himself to glare at Aziraphale, but the angel seemed undeterred. “You have more in common than you seem to have realised, Crowley.”

“Oh, yeah? Name one thing.”

“You’ve both given something away without realising it.” Now he looked downright smug. “If you could go back, wouldn’t you want someone to tell you?”

“Perhaps you’re forgetting that someone _ did _ just tell me,” Crowley grumbled, mostly in an attempt to squash the flicker of hope that had briefly kindled in his chest. “It hurt like hell. I don’t want that for m- for the- for him.”

“All right. All right, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have- I just wanted to help, Crowley. I’m sorry. If you want to stay here and get drunk-”

“Won’t help.” He knew that. “Nothing’s going to help.”

“I wish there was something I could do, Crowley.” The angel had come to sit beside him, taking Crowley’s hands in his own, and all Crowley could do was stare at him. “If I could heal this wound-”

He wasn’t sure what happened; he couldn’t tell you which of them had moved, except that it seemed unlikely Aziraphale would interrupt _ himself_. All Crowley knew was that one moment they were sitting at a perfectly respectable distance from one another, and the next Aziraphale’s lips were pressed against his own, and Crowley made a startled _ mmph _ noise at the same time that Aziraphale let out a shaky breath against Crowley’s mouth, and they were kissing. One of Aziraphale’s hands released Crowley’s in favour of burying itself in his hair, and Crowley clung to the other as he pressed closer, trapping their hands between them.

Then, just as suddenly, Aziraphale let go, throwing himself backwards, and Crowley realised he had made a terrible mistake, had ruined everything between them because he still, after 6000 years, didn’t know how to behave himself around Aziraphale.

“I’m sorry-” Of course Aziraphale didn’t want him; nobody wanted him, nobody could ever want such a monster as Crowley. Hadn’t he done unspeakable things, hadn’t he been corrupted by the Most Unholy, hadn’t he given his own child away without a thought, without a single parental instinct? He wasn’t pure enough to be allowed to touch Aziraphale, to be allowed to _ look _at him. He was repulsive, he was disgusting, unforgivable and unloveable.

“Don’t be.” Aziraphale cut through his thoughts, sounding a little breathless. “Don’t, Crowley. I’ve wanted- but not like this. I can’t, I _ won’t _ take advantage of your distress.”

“It’s all right. I understand.”

“No, Crowley, I don’t think you do.” He braced himself for the rejection he knew was coming, and the angel raised an eyebrow as if to say _ I told you so_. “I love you, you fool, and if none of this had happened last night then I would love nothing more than to kiss you until your head spun. More, probably. But-”

“But I fucked Satan,” Crowley agreed miserably, and was surprised when Aziraphale took his hands again.

“But you’ve had a _ horrible shock _ ,” he corrected gently, “and it’s a lot to take in, and I _ will not _ take advantage of your emotional disarray.” He pressed his forehead to Crowley’s, and Crowley wanted to kiss him again but he didn’t dare try. “I wish you’d stop saying it like that, though. It does conjure up some unwanted images.”

“Sorry.” Come to think of it, _ Crowley _didn’t want Aziraphale thinking about him splayed out beneath the Beast, either. He didn’t want to think about it himself. “Sorry.”

“It’s all right.”

Aziraphale didn’t move, didn’t shy away from the intimacy of prolonging their position. Crowley knew he should say something, should tell him he felt the same way - that he loved Aziraphale more than any demon should be able to love anything, more than _anyone _should be able to love anything. He should tell him that every miserable piece of his shattered heart belonged to him, that it always had and it always would, and that if Aziraphale wouldn’t accept that until Crowley _wasn’t _broken, then it would be a long wait.

“I trust you,” he managed instead. “If you think we should go to Tadfield… I suppose we will.”

“Oh, Crowley, that’s excellent! Get changed, I’ll be waiting by the car.”

Then he was gone, and Crowley was left to wonder what exactly he was supposed to wear when he told his newfound former son everything. Just for once, he would like his life to be less complicated.

* * *

Aziraphale tried to lean casually against the Bentley, as Crowley sometimes did, but thought better of it at the last moment and simply stood awkwardly beside it to wait for the demon. He had, he feared, rather messed things up, and now he could only hope that Crowley could forgive him. He’d been doing the right thing, trying to help Crowley, and then all of a sudden Crowley had been so close and so _ sad _ and Aziraphale hadn’t been able to help himself. He wasn’t entirely sure if he’d actually kissed Crowley, or if Crowley had kissed him, but whichever it was, he’d kissed him back, clinging to him like a drowning man to a liferaft. But that wasn’t right, because _ Crowley _ was drowning, and if Aziraphale clung to him too hard, it would all be too much and the extra weight would drag the demon under.

Crowley knew that he loved him, now. If nothing else, at least he could be sure that Aziraphale was there for him; that he always would be.

When the demon emerged, it took Aziraphale a moment to put his finger on what was different about him. Crowley looked more like Nanny Ashtoreth than usual, but not quite; he realised with a start that he was looking at a demonic approximation of Deirdre Young. Crowley caught him staring.

“Too much?”

“Maybe a little on the nose, dear. You’re not trying to _ replace _ anyone, are you?”

“She replaced me,” the demon grumbled, and suddenly his hair was tumbling around his shoulders, curling naturally at the ends, his outfit becoming something a little more _ Crowley _. “I just… it’s going to be confusing enough, finding out he had a mother he didn’t know about. I thought I should look the part.”

“Crowley… he dealt admirably with the revelation that he was the son of Satan, destined to destroy the world. I think he can handle _ you _, whatever you look like.”

He lost sight of Crowley for a moment as they both got into the Bentley, and when they made eye contact again Crowley looked as he had the previous day, albeit a little sheepish.

“No need to confuse him. He’s seen me like this.”

“Very wise,” Aziraphale told him amiably, “if that’s what you prefer.”

They set off at Crowley’s usual breakneck speed, and Aziraphale bit back his instinctive complaint. But something seemed to be wrong with the Bentley; it kept losing speed, slowing to a crawl until finally, on the outskirts of London, Crowley pulled over and switched off the engine entirely.

“Well, when was the last time you took your car to a mechanic?” Aziraphale smiled encouragingly at him. “It’s surprising it hasn’t broken down _ before_.”

“There’s nothing _ wrong _ with my _ car_!” Crowley snarled.

“But… we’ve stopped.” To his surprise, the demon slumped in his seat, hands still on the wheel.

“I don’t know if we should do this.”

“Crowley, dear-”

“He’s eleven years old, how am I supposed to tell him all of this? _ Oh, hi, you remember how I’m a demon, well I was also your mother until I gave you away but I didn’t know and now I want-” _He stopped abruptly, and Aziraphale thought he might understand the problem.

“What _ do _ you want, Crowley?”

The answer was slow in coming; Crowley had to rest his head against the steering wheel and think for a bit before he finally fixed his eyes on the road ahead once more, avoiding Aziraphale’s concerned gaze.

“I just want to see him. Now that I know.”

“Then we’ll do that.”

“And… I want him to know who I am.”

“Then we’ll find a way to tell him.”

Crowley put the car back in gear, dodged expertly through the traffic on the M25 - “I don’t much like being part of your evil prayer wheel,” Aziraphale muttered, but Crowley didn’t seem to hear - and was halfway to Tadfield by the time the car stalled. Only it hadn't stalled, not really. Aziraphale simply folded his hands in his lap and waited.

"He's got enough to deal with," Crowley mumbled after a moment. "Doesn't need this mess crashing in on top of it."

"Do you mean the situation, or yourself?"

"Both."

"You're not a mess, Crowley." He frowned, considering the state the demon had been in for the last several hours. "Not generally. This has thrown you, but it would throw anyone."

"Exactly. Look what knowing this has done to _ me_, a demon with no feelings," Aziraphale managed to suppress a snort of laughter, and Crowley ploughed on, oblivious, "with 6000 years of nastiness to warn me about this sort of thing. What's it going to do to an eleven-year-old?"

"I don't know. The boy seems quite resilient."

"I can't do it to him, angel. I can't tell him." Crowley seemed about to vibrate out of his skin, and Aziraphale hastened to reassure him. 

"OK. Then you don't have to tell him anything."

"You won't-?"

"No. I promise. This is your show, my dear. I shall do as you ask. But we can still go; you can still see him."

"Yeah. Yes. I can do that." But he didn't start the car; a passing motorcyclist found herself miraculously diverted through a field and over a hedge, since they were blocking the narrow country lane. Crowley didn't seem to notice.

"It's just," he admitted at last, long after the motorbike disappeared, "I don't know what I'll do when I see him. Knowing he's- knowing what's happened," he amended hastily, "what if I cry? What if I discorporate on the spot? What if I cry, _ then _discorporate?"

"You're stronger than you think, Crowley. So is your corporation, for that matter."

"Will you help me?" Crowley looked at him with such open desperation that Aziraphale didn't see how anyone could possibly turn him down. "Cover for me? The Arrangement all over again?"

"Of course I'll help you. Of _ course _ I will."

The car started again, as if it had never stalled in the first place, and they continued towards Tadfield.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for Crowley. He's all over the place in this fic.

Crowley could see the speedometer's needle creeping down past 20, but it felt as though he couldn't do anything to stop it. However, it was an unfortunate scientific fact that even if one crawled the last ten miles to one's destination at the truly miserable speed of 18 miles per hour, one would still arrive in a little over half an hour. This, as it turned out, was also approximately the length of time it took for an angel to start asking inconvenient questions.

"What's bothering you now, Crowley?"

"What if he hates me?" He hadn't meant to say it; it was selfish and pathetic and… and unparental. But then, he wasn't a parent, was he? Not really. He'd never had a chance.

"I'm sure he won't," Aziraphale told him, sounding anything _ but _sure, "and if he does, it's his loss." That seemed more convincing; at least, Aziraphale seemed convinced. Crowley wasn't convinced at all.

"We should just go back to London-" But the words died in his throat, because cycling towards them was a young boy, a dog bounding alongside him, and Crowley's voice wouldn't work any more. _ Adam. _

He looked exactly the same as he had when they'd last met - it had been, after all, only two days - but now Crowley's every sense committed itself to drinking him in. His hair had darkened from the blond of his infancy; his eyes were bright and blue and in no way resembled a serpent's. He had no trace of Crowley's looks, nothing he couldn't have got from either his earthly parents or Satan himself, and yet as Crowley looked at him the truth of Satan's words hit home. This boy had been made from him, had been _ his _, just for a few hours of his life, and he had given him away. As the bike stopped in the car park -

"Anathema saw you from her house, she said you were having car problems, _ and _ she got me out," he heard the boy say as if from a great distance - Crowley stumbled out of the car and fell to his knees in front of Adam's front wheel.

"Mr Crowley? Are you OK?" Somewhere behind him, he could hear Aziraphale making some excuse about how much Crowley loved Hellhounds, but he couldn't take his eyes off of Adam. He had carried this boy in a basket, had given him away, and now he was somehow supposed to face him as if nothing had happened, knowing that he was- could have been- _ had _ been his own?

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

* * *

Aziraphale's rambling excuses died on his lips as Crowley bowed his head and apologised. Crowley had _ never _ behaved like this, not even towards God, and at least She would have known what he was apologising for.

Adam, however, was completely lost.

"Why are you sorry? We saved the world… didn't we?" Then, like a hound who'd caught a scent on the wind, he threw his bike down and advanced upon Crowley, eyes narrowed in confused suspicion. "What are you sorry for?"

"I gave you away- I didn't know-" Crowley's eyes were hidden behind his sunglasses, but Aziraphale would have bet his entire shop that he'd closed them. "I was your mother."

Adam froze, for a moment, and then he turned to Dog.

"Dog, is he telling the truth?" Dog moved right up to Crowley's face, sniffing curiously, and Crowley didn't even move. Aziraphale readied himself to rush in and rescue the demon; however small he was, Dog was still a Hellhound and quite capable of ripping a throat out. But the beast simply turned back to his master, head tilted to the side, one ear slightly inside out, sharing a look with Adam. And Adam nodded grimly.

"Excuse us, please, Mr Aziraphale. I think Mr Crowley and I need to talk." Then he stared pointedly at the Principality until he moved out of earshot, before obviously demanding answers of Crowley. 

Crowley, it seemed, had run out of tears; he answered every question Adam put to him with the same blank expression. Aziraphale wondered if the boy had somehow miracled him into compliance, but he didn't think that could be. All he could do was stand and watch and, when Dog trotted over to demand belly rubs, oblige.

* * *

The whole sorry tale - censored, rather a lot, for Adam's tender ears - was out, and Crowley was exhausted. He still hadn't dared to look at Adam since the moment he'd admitted to having been his mother; Adam still hadn't given any indication of how he felt about it all. He did, however, seem to have run out of questions. 

"And you found out yesterday?" Of course, he couldn't read his would-be son at all. He nodded miserably. "I wish I'd known, before. I would have shouted at him more."

Crowley opened his eyes, shocked by the lack of fury directed at him.

"I really am sorry," he repeated softly, and was surprised by Adam's interruption.

"You didn't know." The former Antichrist took a deep breath, apparently thinking. "I meant what I said, at the air base. I _ have _ parents, parents who were there for me. But- I never thought- I can't change the way things are any more. And I don't really _ need _ more parents. But… I could use some godparents, if you're interested."

"Trust me, you _ don't _want Satan as your godfather," Crowley warned him, and Adam laughed.

"Not you and him, silly. You and _ him. _" He gestured vaguely towards the angel, who was pensively scratching Dog's inverted ear without ever taking his eyes off of Crowley. "You must know you go together."

"Godfathers?" Crowley murmured, "we weren't great at that."

"It doesn't matter. It would mean we could be family. If… that is, if you wanted."

"I would love that," Crowley admitted, finally taking his sunglasses off to meet Adam's eyes. "If you're sure you want me," he gestured vaguely at his eyes, "as family."

"How come I didn't get cool snake eyes?" Adam asked, and then, "can I hug you?"

"Er. Uh. Yeah. I suppose-" And then his son, who was no longer his son but his godson instead, wrapped his arms around Crowley, and Crowley hugged him back. "Er, god_ parent _, I think, if you don't mind. My gender has a tendency to wander."

Adam blinked twice, then shrugged. "Godparent, then." 

Then he called Aziraphale over, and explained the deal to him, and then almost before Crowley knew it the sun was setting and Adam was cycling off home, Dog bouncing along behind him. He stared blankly at Aziraphale. 

"What just happened? Tell me I made conversation."

"Mostly, my dear, mostly. You seemed a little dazed, for which I can't blame you. Shall we go home?"

* * *

Crowley stood, and Aziraphale took one step back towards the car before he felt hands on him, turning him so that his back was pressed against the driver's door. He didn't have a chance to question it, though, as Crowley pressed his whole body against him and ran his tongue along the vein in Aziraphale's neck.

"Did you miracle him?" He hissed, close to the point where Aziraphale's jaw met his throat, and the angel could barely yelp an answer. 

"No. That was all him."

"Good." Crowley didn't move away, shifting to tease Aziraphale's earlobe with his teeth. "You made me come here."

"_ Make _ is a strong-"

"I should return the favour."

It took a moment for that to sink in, but when it did Aziraphale froze. As delightful as it would undoubtedly be to let Crowley debauch him, it sounded all too transactional. If Crowley ever _ did _ do anything of that sort, Aziraphale wanted it to be because they both wanted it, their judgement impaired by nothing but their proximity and their decisions influenced only by their desire for each other.

"Crowley- no, Crowley, stop." By the time he'd got the third word out, Crowley was already backing away, looking utterly appalled with himself.

"I'm sorry- I thought-"

"One day, Crowley, one day I will absolutely take you up on that offer, if it stands. But not today. Not the day you got to meet your son. It's too much. You go too _ fast_, Crowley," he told him with the faintest ghost of a rueful smile, "and I don't want you hurting yourself."

"Right. Yeah. It was just a thought."

He walked round to open the passenger side door, and Aziraphale slid into the seat without a word. He couldn't quite fail to notice the bitter line of Crowley's mouth as he got in too.


	5. Chapter 5

They drove home in silence; Crowley felt very much as if he'd lost a pound and found a penny, or rather as if he'd lost a son and found a godson. He was grateful, of course, to have even _ that _ part in Adam's life, but it didn't take away the sting of betrayal and grief for the life they could have had. But what life _ could _ they have had, really? Crowley could hardly have raised Adam in Hell, and his life on Earth had always been far too unpredictable to bring a child up in. No, Adam had been better off as he was, as it turned out, and it was just Crowley who'd missed something that could have been wonderful.

And the timing- he thought, maybe, that he and Aziraphale could have been wonderful too. If only he hadn't broken down on him, if only he hadn't exposed his weakness and his sordid history… He and Aziraphale could have had something good.

"I didn't know you wanted kids," Aziraphale said, out of nowhere, and immediately looked as though he'd like to take it back.

"Always liked kids," Crowley told him, "little innocent agents of chaos. I appreciate the paradox."

"I'm not sure that _ is _a paradox," Aziraphale argued gently.

"Whatever. I just- look, I never thought it was an option, so I never thought about having my own kids. And I never got to stay in one place long enough to raise any for long - the Ark, the Crusades, Warlock, all of those were short-term things. But now that I know it was possible… that it happened to me, and I was cheated out of it… I suppose I do. Stupid idea, really. Demon kids, just what the world needs."

"Angel kids," Aziraphale corrected quietly, "they wouldn't have Fallen. I've no idea how Adam ended up human. But… they'd be angels."

"Even worse," Crowley declared with a conviction he didn't feel. "Best this way."

They pulled up outside the bookshop, and Aziraphale got out before leaning in to speak through the driver's side window.

"What are you going to do about Satan?"

"Why, angel." Crowley didn't have to pretend to be surprised by the question. "Surely you're not advocating revenge?"

"Well, he hurt our side very badly. Only fair we hit him back. Let me know if I can help at all." Then he surprised him again, leaning in through the window to seize Crowley's hand and kiss it before disappearing into the darkened shop, leaving the demon stunned. For a moment, he wondered if it was an invitation to follow - but it had been a long, exhausting few days and he didn't want to end them with another rejection.

Besides, he needed to rest up if he was going to get any sort of justice.

* * *

Aziraphale was surprised by the arrival of a familiar demon at the bookshop door as he was about to lock up one night. He hadn't seen Crowley in the two months since they'd gone to Tadfield together; he'd assumed he was sleeping. Now, here Crowley stood, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed - metaphorically speaking - and clutching a small bouquet of exotic blooms.

"Crowley. I've missed you." It was the sort of thing he was allowed to say, now that they were on their own side. "You foul fiend," he added, for old time's sake, and the demon smirked.

"Aziraphale! I brought you these. Thought you might like them. Little demonic miracle, they're still alive and growing."

"They're lovely," Aziraphale told him, taking the flowers and ushering Crowley inside so he could finish sliding the bolts across. "You're alive too. Did you get your revenge?"

"Nah. Thought about it - a lot - but anything I did would just help distract him from the fact that he's lost Adam forever. So whenever I got really angry about it, I'd just call to see how my- our godson was getting on, and it’s as awkward as anything, but it helps. He's doing great, by the way. Raising hell, but not literally."

"Oh, I see. Yes, I suppose _I_ should call him."

"I think he'd like that."

They were settled in armchairs in the little back room, flowers safely displayed on a table, when Aziraphale thought of something.

"So, you're not here for my help?"

"No- well- sort of. I, er, kissed you, in Tadfield. Maybe I shouldn't have, but… I sort of got the impression…"

"I wanted it. I _ do _want it. You. It was just that-"

"-you can't forget my past," Crowley guessed, and Aziraphale could have shaken him, the oblivious fool.

"I don't care if you had a full-on orgy with Beelzebub and twenty-seven angels, Crowley. I _ love _you. But your heart was in shreds, I couldn't bear to risk breaking it any more by taking advantage."

He soon realised that Crowley had stalled. The demon was staring at him as if he was speaking in tongues.

“Sorry, _ what_?”

“I’m not suggesting you _ did _ have a-”

“Not that. You… No, _ I’m _ the one-” Crowley’s tongue sweeps out to wet his lips. “I mean… I’ve always loved you. Always. You’re _ you_, angel, and- and I’m just me. That’s- I thought that was why-”

“Oh, Crowley, dear. If you hadn’t been in so much pain, I’d have kissed you long ago. I was going to- right after the apocalypse- I was going to kiss you, and I was going to tell you how I felt. But then you were summoned, and it was obvious that you weren’t in any state.”

"I'm all right now," Crowley told him, seeming almost _ shy. _"No pressure, but… If you want. We could take it slow, I know I go too fast for you-"

He got no further, because Aziraphale had crossed the room and covered his mouth with his own. Crowley whimpered, a greedy sound of _ want _ and _ need _ , but seemed determined to honour his promise to go slowly. That was unfortunate, in Aziraphale's opinion, because after so many years of waiting, he wanted everything Crowley was willing to give. He opened his mouth, tongue running along Crowley's lip until the demon followed suit, and then - _ oh _, that clever tongue was good for more than sarcasm.

"Crowley," he managed, as they broke apart for a moment, "I'll go fast if you will."

"Angel-" It was a bitten-off moan. "_I'm _ supposed to be the tempter, here."

"Well, tonight _ I'm _ trying to tempt _ you_. Are you going to thwart me, or-?" His answer came in the form of a sharp tug at his hips, spilling him into Crowley's lap. "Oh, thank God."

"Let'sss not," Crowley hissed into the hollow at the base of the angel's throat, hips already shifting idly upwards, "not now."

"Hm. No. Right. Oh-" The slightest pinch of teeth at his skin turned all his thoughts to quite another kind of divinity. "_More. _"

* * *

Crowley woke, hours later, feeling sticky and satisfied. Aziraphale had miracled them into a brand-new bed at some point in the previous night's proceedings, and Crowley wondered idly if Heaven was still monitoring his miracles. In a way, he almost hoped they were, just so that there would be a record somewhere to show that it had happened. Crowley had touched the divine, had made bruising, passionate love - and then sweet, tender love - to the most perfect angel who had ever been. And Aziraphale had enjoyed it, had gone to pieces so beautifully and then begged for more. Let there be a record, somewhere, in case of the very likely event that it would never happen again.

"I love you," Crowley whispered to the angel he was still wrapped around, "and I hope you won't regret this when you wake up." But as he tried to slip away, Aziraphale held him fast.

"Crowley, love of my existence, I've been awake for hours." Crowley's body must have tensed in surprise, because the angel chuckled. "You're the sleeper here. And I don't mind if you have somewhere you need to be - only I was rather hoping we might carry on."

Crowley considered the possibility for a moment, then snuggled back against his angel. It seemed, for now, that he would be going nowhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there you go - I hope it didn't disappoint.
> 
> If anyone's still up for a little more, I have another part for this that I'll post very soon. Until then, thanks for reading!


End file.
